His American Fling (30 page)

Campbell swallowed hard, “Walker, what time is dinner being served?”

“Eight-thirty my Lord. Cocktails at eight in the front reception room.”

“Could you please have the staff show my guests to their rooms?”

“Yes, your Lordship.”

Another under-butler, Singh, showed up.  He was quite handsome, Indian with gorgeous brown eyes and a very kind smile. Singh showed us to the rooms although Henry and Fiona knew where theirs were.

“It’s alright Singh, Lady Raleigh and I can find our rooms. Come along Maggie, you’re with me,” Henry said.

I looked at Fiona who gave me a look of both frustration and puzzlement. Shrugging,
she took off down a hall and into a room. Henry opened the door and we went inside. The room was as big as Campbell’s parlor in Cambridge with large windows to the south overlooking the massive gardens and maze in the back of the house. The garden was a cornucopia of beautiful blooms including a gorgeous purple Wisteria that lined a massive portico that separated the maze portion of the garden from the flower and seating area. I saw that in the middle of the maze were a fountain and several benches. The room was regal with two wingback chairs facing a medium sized fireplace with intricate mantel carvings out of mahogany over a marble tiled face.  The bed did not have a canopy, but did have a substantial headboard that was also carved mahogany. The room was in deep plums, purples and creams.

“This is the guest room? It’s gorgeous.”

“The sitting room is through that door.”  Henry motioned to a door near the window. I noticed that Henry was getting out his toiletries from a drawer. His dinner jacket was hung on the silent butler along with his pants and shoes, already shined.  I wondered where my clothes were and then saw the wardrobe near the corner. I went over and opened it, finding all of my clothing hanging up and pressed. I was floored. We’d only been in the home for three hours.

“Mags, I’m going to take a shower and then a quick nap. Care to join me?”
             
Oh crap!
  I shook my head. “Henry, I’m not really tired so I think I’ll snoop a little.  Besides, I think Fiona wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Fine, have fun. I think we should dress at seven, it’s six now.”

I nodded. Leaving the guest suite, I started towards the room that Fiona had entered, but then I thought of something and decided against it. If I left things to Henry and Fiona, God knows what would happen. I went downstairs and spent ten minutes finding a servant who could arrange for Singh to come to see me.  I didn’t think Walker would help me with my project. When he appeared in the hall, he looked stunned.

“Miss McGee? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, Singh. I would like for you to show me the wine cellar.” Campbell had once told me about playing in the wine cellar. He missed dinner because no one could find him. He gave me great detail of what had happened. I could only hope that the cellar hadn’t changed since he was a boy.

“The wine cellar Ma ‘am?” his beautiful brown eyes were wide open in surprise.

“Yes. “

He thought a minute and then I thought I saw a slight shrug as if he had just decided some internal argument. “This way ma’am.”  He took me through a servant’s hallway similar to the one that ran the width of Henry’s London home.  We went through the Butler’s pantry and then to a door that led downstairs.

I was surprised to find that there was a whole world underneath the manor. We passed the laundry and linen room with three sets of washers and dryers, a commercial ironing board and several shelves filled with linens. There was a granary, where all the dry foods were stored. The kitchen had tall ceilings that were high enough that numerous windows lined the upper half of the wall.  It contained a large
SubZero
refrigerator, Aga stove, several ovens and counter space, a butcher’s block and pans hanging everywhere. There was also a large restaurant stainless steel sink and three large dishwashers. Next to the two dishwashers was a room with glass cabinets and drawers for the china and everyday dishes.

I watched as the kitchen staff worked and teased each other as they made sauces,
deserts and carved what appeared to be a large roast. 

Singh chastised me gently when I slowed down to gawk at the kitchen, “This way Ma’am.”

I picked up speed and then we came to a door which had both a wrought iron gate and then a large oak door. The gate was locked, but the door wasn’t, it was open and beyond it was a set of stairs.  Singh took a ring of keys off of a hook next to the door and unlocked the heavy gate.

“Singh, why are the keys kept out in the open?”

“The gate automatically locks, which is why the key is easily reached through the gate from the other side. We keep it open during the day, however, at night, we take the key and it is locked in the safe.” 

The gate closed behind us. Singh kept the keys as we descended to the cellar.  I immediately felt the cold and could smell that musty smell that cellars tend to have, especially ones built in the early eighteen hundreds. The stone walls were cool to the touch. I was glad that Singh was in front of me to show me the way. The cellar was a little spooky to me.  I’m glad he didn’t see my face—I had the most mischievous smile on my
face as I plotted the evening out and I didn't want him to see it.
 

Singh spoke to me as if he was a tour guide for Windsor Castle, “The wine cellar is kept between 9-13 degrees centigrade depending on the room and classification of wine.  Our wine steward comes in once a week when the family is in residence to check on the equipment and wines.”

We walked slowly along rows of dusty bottles sitting in racks approximately ten feet high. I was sizing Singh up, wondering if he would work with me, the Colonist.

Singh
, obviously very proud of the cellar, motioned to the stores and smiled, “There are seven cellar rooms.  Among the reds, Lord Falkirk owns a
Château Latour à Pomerol 1995, Nuits St Georges 1996, Château Chasse Spleen 1990, Château Léoville Barton 1988, Château Fonroque 1995, as well as Château Meyney 1996, Château Beau-Site 1995 and Château Batailley 1994
.

Among the whites, his father had a penchant for South African chardonnays and New Zealand's Oyster Bay sauvignon blancs.”    He continued to drone on as we walked room to room, the temperature of the rooms varying as we walked through.

“There are banks of non-vintage champagne in the room to our right and in this room, gathering dust, are superb ports, including a 1963 Fonseca and Quinta do Noval.”  He turned to me and pointed to another room to the left, “That room houses the ales. But, most noteworthy is the 1660 sherry dug up when the new stables were built at Dunskey Castle.” I tried to appear as if I was deeply interested in all the brands and years, but in reality, I wouldn’t know a
Chateau Fonroque
from
Thunderbird
.

Singh
paused, his hands behind his back, and turned to face me, “Is there something you would like to sample or see?”

“Yes, I’d like to see the very cheapest bottle of wine you have in the cellar.”

He tilted his head and frowned, “Cheapest?”

“Yes, cheapest.”

“That would be back this way Ma’am.  It’s served when the British Trust opens the house to visitors once each year.  Here you are Madam,
Château Rothschild, 2009, Cabernet Sauvignon
.  It wasn’t a very good year.”  He handed her a bottle from the stacks.

“How much does a bottle cost?” I asked.

“I’m not sure madam, perhaps £10, maybe a little more.”

“Thank you, that’s perfect. Now, I have a
favor to ask, with the Earl’s blessing of course.  I’m going to tell you something and you must never tell anyone.”

Singh raised an eyebrow, reminding me of the look Spock used to give Kirk when he was curious. We spoke for another ten minutes and then left the cellar, replacing the keys on the iron hook outside the gate. I took a walk around the first floor looking at the various rooms and accidently coming upon Penelope’s husband, asleep on a sofa. I eventually went upstairs and slipped inside the room, noticing that Henry was asleep. I grabbed my underwear and toiletries, slipping into the gorgeous marble tiled bathroom and turning on the shower which had clearly been added into the corner of the bathroom sometime in the forties judging from the fixtures which were still in wonderful condition. I had just turned off the water and was stepping out into the bathroom when I noticed Henry, in his boxers, standing at the sink, brushing his teeth.

“Come here, darling.” 

I could tell just from the tenor of his voice that he was feeling frisky. I shook my head, “Henry
, please, not right now. I need to talk to you.”

His face dropped, but then he looked at his watch, “It’s almost seven-thirty dear. 
Perhaps we can talk later, after dinner. You better get ready for cocktails.”

I had gone to a Jumble sale in Cambridge and found a rack of designer clothes among the offerings. I purchased a little black dress out of pure silk featuring a sash tie at the shoulder, a keyhole back, and shirred cummerbund.  It hit just above my knee.  With it I wore sheer black stockings and a pair of black, two inch sling-back pair of Easy Living shoes. I wanted to be comfortable, I’d been running around all day on three inch heels and my feet were screaming.

“You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Henry, so do you!”  I had to admit, Henry looked incredible, he was in a white dinner jacket with a beautiful silk bow tie, black pants and Italian shoes.

He smiled and put his hand on the small of my back to escort me out the door and down the stairs to the reception room which sat at the front of the manor, had a huge walk-in fireplace with a large gilded mirror above it and numerous sitting areas. A dozen lights and lamps lit the room, but because of its size, only certain areas seemed to have enough light to read or play games. The area near the fireplace was not as well lit, making it more romantic whenever there was a fire. 

Walker showed up, “Drink, your Lordship?”

“Gin and tonic,” Henry said, sitting down in a chair.

“Miss McGee?”

“Single Malt, please.”

Both Henry and Walker stared at me.

“Is there something wrong with a single malt?”  I asked.

Henry chuckled, “No, it’s just that American women usually don’t ask for one.” 

The doors opened and Penelope came into the room with her husband.  She had on a black and white dress, mostly black, almost a cocktail dress, but not quite. I had to admit that I didn’t see much of Campbell in her features.  She had gray eyes and very round features compared to Campbell’s height and long proportions.

“Henry!”  Penelope went straight over and kissed him, then took a seat on the far end of the sofa I had chosen, close to the fire.

“Maggie, your performance this afternoon was delightful, thank you for doing that.” She sounded genuinely pleased.

I blushed, not expecting her to compliment me, “Thank you, Lady Penelope.”

“Oh, just call me Penelope. I’ve heard a lot about you this afternoon from Fiona.”

I was worried that Fiona had told her some fantasy about me being her future sister in law. I looked over at Henry, who was taking his drink from Walker.

Penelope continued, “She speaks very highly of you. Oh Peter! Come sit by me and keep me company!”

She waved to Viscount Peter Colchester, who quickly plopped down next to her, grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Tell me darling, how are you doing?”

Penelope sighed, “Oh, I have good moments and bad. I wouldn’t want to be Cam; he’s being dumped into the thick of it. He just found out that Father’s big deal that he’d been putting together for two years is unraveling. Cam won’t be joining us tonight; he flew to Paris with Gemma to do damage control.”

I flushed red from anger, but didn’t say anything. I wanted to talk to Fiona.

“Excuse me, but is there a restroom down here?” I asked Penelope.

Henry dropped a cube of ice in his drink. “She means loo.”

Penelope’s mouth dropped open. “Oh! Yes, of course, out the door and behind the staircase.”

I left
the room with no intention of going to the bathroom, but in search of Fiona. I went back upstairs and down the two hallways, knocking on the door that I hoped was hers.  “Fiona?”  I whispered loudly.

The door opened and Fiona, stood in a deep brown satin dress, putting on her earrings. “Come in, Mags.  I was expecting you earlier.”

“Fiona,” I pretended to slur my words, “What’s up with Campbell?”

“What do you mean?”

“He flew to Paris with Gemma.”

“Really?” Fiona was genuinely surprised, “Why?”

“Some business deal gone south.”

She straightened her dress. “Are you drunk Maggie?”

“I’ve had a few drinks,” I lied. I wanted her to think I was very drunk.

She looked beautiful, her dress seemed to have been tailored around every curve, her lips were a deep red and her eyes smoky hot. We started out the door when she paused, “Maybe I should take a shawl, it can get drafty in this house.”  She thought, but then shook her head and left without it.  Putting her long, thin arm around me, she chuckled, “We need to feed you, dear.”